


A Little Slice of Heaven

by AubreyEtta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, M/M, Scarred Dean, m/m slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AubreyEtta/pseuds/AubreyEtta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak, P.I. has been hired to locate Dean Winchester. He uncovers a lot more than what he set out to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Slice of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission to the challenge prompt from over on /r/fanfiction. 
> 
> My words were: Blackheart, Beast, and Cognitive. 
> 
> This is my attempt at a film noir inspired piece, set in 1951. 
> 
> Much love to my betas madeofspace and ashes0909 for all their hard work! This wasn't an easy one, and I know I was annoying because the tone had to be 'just right' whatever that means...

**A Little Slice of Heaven**

Castiel Novak studied the man sitting across his desk and tilted his head. He observed as the man nervously crumpled a perfectly good hat. Castiel startled when the streetlamp across the street flickered, causing the horizontal blinds to cast contrasting shadows across the man’s face. Castiel shook his head and thought, _Just because you’re a Private Investigator now doesn’t make this a noir film._

“So, do you think you could help me?” the man asked nervously.

Castiel stood to peer out the window. “You said he was employed by the mob leader of the Blackhearts? Alistair Muldoon?”

He turned as the man nodded in response to the question. “Dean and I haven’t had the best upbringing. Mom died young, and our father was a deadbeat. Dean wanted me to focus on my schooling, and we, Dean really, did the best we could to make it. After the war, he came back different. He had a limp, but it wasn’t just that, see. He was haunted. He had a hard time finding a steady job, so an army buddy got him the job with the Blackhearts. I should have insisted that he not get involved with criminals, but my brother assured me that it was only driving.”

“War changes people,” Castiel said simply. “Do you have a recent photograph of your brother, Mister Winchester?”

“Just Sam, please,” he said as he slid a picture across the desk.

“I have a few places I can check. However, if Muldoon doesn’t want your brother found, he probably won’t be.”

Castiel offered Sam a cigarette, and lit one himself, before he picked up the photograph. In the photo, Sam and, who he assumed was Dean, leaned against an old Model T. Their arms were thrown around each other’s shoulders, and they were smiling widely into the camera. Castiel observed how handsome Dean was with his chiseled jaw and full lips, his straight teeth gleaming a radiant smile that caused his eyes to crinkle jovially. Judging by the carefree smile Sam’s brother sported, he deduced that this was taken before the war.

“I know that, Mister Novak. Just, try. Please.”

“Castiel, please.”

“Castiel, I have some scholarship money that I can pay you with. At any rate, your fee will get paid,” Sam pleaded. “He’s all I have left. It has been over six months since I have seen him, but money shows up every month. No note, just cash. I am getting married next month and I would like him there.”

It sounded as if Dean didn’t want to be found. However, looking at the photograph again, and the crumpled look on Sam’s face, like someone kicked his puppy, he found he couldn’t refuse. “I’ll take the case, but I can't make any promises.”

“Thank you, Castiel. Truly.” Sam stood as Castiel did and they shook hands.

“I’ll be in touch.”

**\-----**

The Kansas City Public Library archive room was located in the badly ventilated basement of the building. It was dark, musty and smelled distinctly of moldy wet newspaper. However, it was the next step in his search for Dean Winchester.

Castiel found himself searching through old newspapers for any signs of Dean Winchester the next afternoon. Lawrence, Kansas was coming up a bust, but it wasn’t far from the large metropolis of Kansas City, which is where Alistair Muldoon headed the Blackhearts. He ran into the name Winchester a few times: a blurb about Dean’s enlistment, and an article with an accompanying picture depicting Dean receiving the Medal of Honor from the President shortly after D-Day. But the information, being over six years old, was outdated. He found announcements of Sam’s graduation from a prestigious law program at KU and his subsequent engagement to a prominent socialite from the northeast, but nothing within the past year, and nothing about Dean.

Thankfully, the obits were also a bust.

The overhead light sputtered and zapped out in the archive room, and he was bathed in darkness. So Castiel took that as his cue to give up on the papes. However, he did tear out the photo of Dean with the President.

He was going to have to go about this a different way.

**\-----**

It was after dark when Castiel ventured out again. He drove to the seedy side of Kansas City, parked under a buzzing streetlamp, and waited. He dug his fingers into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the photos of Dean: the grainy one from the newspaper, showing Dean tall and proud as he was commemorated for his service; and the older one, where he and his brother embraced happily.

What did he actually know about Dean? He clearly cared for his brother, given his expression in the picture and the fact that he continued to send money to him. His bravery on the battlefield also painted Dean in a positive light. Why would he ever work for the Blackhearts? The obvious reason would be that he was unable to find stable work in Lawrence, and with a brother to support, he was forced to seek other means of employment. The only thing Castiel was certain of, however, was that after searching his own inclinations, he was fast becoming attached to the missing Winchester.

As Castiel sat waiting under the dim streetlamp, he lost himself in thought. He was interrupted by the occasional promiscuous solicitation, but waved each of them away with a flick of his wrist. After a time, the neon sign to _Hell’s Angels_ flickered to life. Castiel took a deep breath and slipped out of his car. Barney, the bouncer, waved him into the club and he sauntered up to the bar.

“Bourbon, neat.” He had to yell at the barkeep just to be heard over the noise of the jazz band warming up for the night’s show.

The man turned and a smile lit up his face. “Cassie! What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“Bourbon with a side of information, if you please,” Castiel answered gravelly.

“Bring your drink back to my office then. We’ll catch up,” the barkeep shouted and added in a whisper, “where we won’t be overheard.” At Castiel’s nod, he turned and hollered to a woman cheerfully, “Madge! You’ve got the bar. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” the surly looking woman said with a glare.

The two men walked back to the office and the barkeep securely locked the door before he pulled Castiel into a hug. “You know it isn’t safe here.”

“Gabriel, brother. You know I never see ya,” Castiel joked and patted him on the back.

“Miss me that much, eh?” he asked with a laugh as they pulled away. Gabriel calmed, and he leveled a stare on Castiel. “Out with it.”

His brother knew him too well, so he shook his head and said, “I’m looking for someone. Last time anyone has heard from him, he worked for the Blackhearts, presumably as a driver. Since the leader sometimes does business here, I thought you may have the scoop,” Castiel asked as he took out the photograph of Sam and Dean Winchester and told his brother what he knew about the man.

“Looks familiar. I haven’t seen him recently though.”

“Dead end again,” Castiel sighed as his shoulders fell. “I will see what Michael can do tomorrow.”

“By the worn edges of this photo, and the fact you're going to Mikey for help, I’d say that this has become more than just a case.” Gabriel could be very insightful.

“Perhaps,” Castiel hedged.

“That is enough for me,” Gabriel piped cheerfully. “If I hear anything, I will let you know. But, brother, be careful. Asking questions about the Blackhearts is bound to get you noticed.”

“Thank you, brother. I’ll be cautious,” Castiel said as he clasped Gabriel’s shoulder, and downed his drink. “Now how about another for the road.”

One more drink, and a couple of songs from the band later, Castiel left and drove aimlessly for a few blocks before he noticed the gasoline needle dipping toward ‘E’.

He pulled up to the pump at the next filling station, Singer’s One-Stop Pump, and whistled appreciatively at the car parked in the garage bay. It was a beauty, all gleaming black and shiny chrome, and obviously well cared for. He glanced at it as he opened the door to the store to prepay for his gasoline. The bell on the door announced his arrival.

Castiel stood in front of the counter awaiting service before someone addressed him.

“Just leave your money on the counter. The pump is on. I’m under a car and can’t come out. We’re on the honor system here, but I see your license plate number so I’ll come after ya if you take more than you pay for,” came a gruff voice through the propped open door that went to the garage side of the station. “And not through the cops.”

“Understood. I’m paying for five, and I’ll only pump five. I’m leaving a quarter for a coke and a pack of smokes. I’ll be grabbing a pack of Lucky Strikes from behind the counter.”

“Sounds good,” was the only reply.

Castiel went out and began to pump his gas. Watching the building, he noticed that the attendant was now inside the store rather than the garage. He watched as the man moved around the small convenience store. Castiel noted his slight limp, but otherwise the man walked with confidence, with his back straight and shoulders squared. Castiel could also see the engine-grease stained hands count the money he had left. Before he knew it, his tank was full. _That was more than five bucks_. He hung up the nozzle and went back inside.

The man was at the counter, his back to Castiel, stocking a cigarette display. He wore a pageboy hat pulled low to cover most of his ears, and a handkerchief was tied around his neck. Castiel couldn’t see any trace of the skin of the man’s neck or face, which he found odd, but chalked it up to not wanting to get engine oil in his hair.

“My mind wandered and I pumped extra. I’ve come to pay for it,” Castiel said while looking down into his wallet. He looked up, but the attendant had not turned around. He simply gave a slight incline of his head as he acknowledged Castiel’s statement.

Castiel pulled out the extra cash, set it on the counter, and turned to leave without another word.

“Thanks for stopping in,” the man said as the door swung closed.

Castiel turned to wave at the attendant, but he had disappeared into the back of the store. Other than the nagging feeling in the back of his neck, which he soon attributed to the booze he drank at Gabriel’s, he didn’t think much of it.

He spent the better part of the next day making notations on what he had learned about Dean Winchester in a small notebook, so as not to forget pertinent details. He’d managed to find little rest the night before, and his eyes blurred sleepily. He pulled out his pocket watch and huffed. If he didn’t leave for the police station soon, he’d miss Michael. He shook the wrinkles out of his trench coat as best as he could and made his way to the Kansas City police station.

Once at the station, he sought out Michael: Kansas City’s Chief of Police, and his eldest brother. Castiel and he always had an explosive relationship, so he hoped that his brother would be in a helping mood.

Castiel was ushered into Michael’s office and his brother joined him soon after.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” Michael said with a sigh as he chewed on the stub of a cigar. Not a good sign.

Castiel lit a cigarette and watched the smoke swirl before he answered. “I'm sorry to bother you,” Castiel said dryly.

“I'm just very busy today. The Blackhearts have been keeping us on our toes. Why are you in my office?” he demanded curtly again.

“I’ve got a case. I was hoping you could help, as I’ve run into a dead end,” Castiel answered calmly. “I’ve been hired to find a Dean Winchester.” Castiel went on to tell Michael what he knew of Dean.

“That name sounds familiar. Give me a moment,” Michael said as he walked out of his office. He came back with a moderately thick file. “Dean Winchester has a rap sheet. Battery, accomplice in a string of bank robberies. Nothing that stuck for long, but he did a stint in the clink a few years back. Not terribly long, three months is all, but still not good. Appears he was linked to Alistair Muldoon. That name again!” Michael made a disgusted noise. “Turns out he was a CI for Detective Mills towards the end there. She works in the gang task force. Looks like a sting went south, and he was presumed dead about six months ago. All they found was a finger.”

“Where can I talk to this Detective Mills?”

“He’s dead, Castiel. Ring your client and collect your fee. Buy a new suit,” Michael sneered as he eyed Castiel’s rumpled three-piece repugnantly.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Castiel said quietly. “Thank you, Michael.” Castiel moved to stand up and held out his hand, but Michael was already focused on something else. Castiel left his office and went in search of Detective Mills.

Detective Mills’ office was located on the floor above Michael’s. She was friendlier, but had no more information than Michael had. It was close to nine, and the sun was setting when he stepped out of the building.

Castiel stood for a second and lit a cigarette. He watched as the smoke billowed and swirled. If Dean was dead, then why was Sam still receiving money every month? Also, Dean was only presumed dead, as there was never a body.

Instead of going to his automobile, he walked down the block a ways to gather his thoughts. Castiel yawned, pulled out his pocket watch and noted that it was close to ten-thirty. He had been wandering, deep in thought for quite some time, and he could use a strong cup of joe if he was going to walk back to his car. He noticed the flickering neon of a diner across the street and crossed. Castiel walked in and surveyed the area. It was nearly deserted except for a couple at the counter and a man in the corner booth.

Castiel would have overlooked the man in the booth if it hadn’t been for the hat and scarf around his neck.

“Mind if I join you?” Castiel asked the reclusive gas station attendant, who was currently enjoying a steaming cuppa joe, and a fat slice of blueberry pie.

“The place is empty,” the man gruffed without looking up from his pie. “Find somewhere else.”

“Alright. I was just curious as to what you would charge to detail my vehicle,” Castiel said softly. “I recognized you from the service station. I was in last night and noticed the vehicle you had in your bay. It was a beauty. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t cheat me,” he said simply. The man took a deep breath and held it. He released it slowly, and said, “I'm sorry. Sit if you want.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said with a smile and slid into the bench opposite him. When the man finally took his eyes off his pie, Castiel’s breath caught in his chest. He’d been looking, staring really, into a less mangled version of this face for the past few days. The man across from him was wearing a thick black eye patch over his left eye, and his hat was pulled down low as if to hide other injuries. Castiel startled. He’d found his mark, quite by accident. Castiel’s stomach lifted and he whispered, “You’re--”

“Bobby Singer,” the man interrupted with a glare and in a tone that brokered no argument. “You are?”

“Castiel Novak,” he said. Before anything further could be discussed, however, a man carrying a Tommy gun burst into the diner.

“Down!” The man who called himself Bobby Singer said, his voice low so as to not draw attention. “Under the table!”

The mobster opened fire on the diner. It seemed to last a lifetime before the spatter of bullets into the ceiling ended. “Someone tell Winchestah he’s a deadman! We know he comes in ‘ere. He has until dawn to show his mug at _Hell’s Angels_ or we’re going aftah his brotha next!”

They waited a few minutes to make sure the shooter was gone, but when Castiel heard the police sirens, he knew they had to get out of there. They emerged from under the table, and the other man threw a few bucks onto the table. He moved over to the counter where the waitress was still hunkering and whispered something to her. He turned and without another word, made his way out of the diner.

Castiel followed him to a car, the same from the garage, and up close Castiel could see that it was a Chevy Fleetline. The man turned and yelled, “What do you want now?”

Castiel reached into the pocket of his tan trench coat and pulled out a picture. “This is you, correct?”

The sirens were getting louder.

“Fuck! Get in.”

Castiel slid into the passenger seat just as Dean was sliding into the driver seat. He sat there for a moment before he hit the steering wheel hard, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he yelled.

Castiel jumped but quickly got a hold of himself. “We can’t stay here,” he whispered.

Dean nodded, started the engine and pulled out onto the road just as the cops were pulling up to the diner.

They drove aimlessly for a few miles before Castiel turned and looked at who he now knew for sure to be Dean Winchester.

Dean looked over quickly at the photograph on Castiel’s knee and asked, “Where’d you get that?”

Castiel decided it was better to lay all his cards on the table rather than hide anything, so he told the entire story about Sam hiring him, and Castiel doing his digging into Dean’s past. “I didn’t know it was you last night at the filling station, Dean. I swear. Just now at the diner, everything clicked into place.”

Dean nodded, processing what Castiel had told him. “For someone so smart, my brother sure is stupid,” he said simply. “Where to, Cas? We can’t drive forever.”

Castiel took in his surroundings. “My apartment isn’t far. Let’s head there and figure out what we need to do.”

It was just shy of midnight when Castiel and Dean barred the door on Castiel’s apartment.

“We are royally fucked, Cas,” Dean growled as he turned around to face him. “I'd managed to hide from Muldoon and his cronies for months, but it had taken him no time to find me.”

“It was a stroke of luck that I did,” Castiel conceded. “He must have been watching your movements for a while.”

“Probably,” he whispered. “Fuck! Sam!”

“I will ring him from the telephone down the hall. Tell him to get out of town for a while. Then we will formulate a plan.”

Dean nodded. After Castiel finished his call with Sam, he returned to his apartment to find Dean sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. Castiel moved to sit close to him.

“Sam is going to take his fiancee up the coast for a few weeks to her mother’s. I told him I’d contact him when it was safe,” Castiel explained. Dean simply nodded. ”Why have you been avoiding Sam?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Have you seen me?” Dean mumbled.

Castiel nodded and waited patiently for Dean to continue. However, he changed the subject.

“Fuck. What am I going to do?”

“Well,” Castiel said slowly, trying to come up with anything that could help the situation. Then he had an epiphany. “Gabriel!”

“Gabriel?”

“My brother, and the owner of _Hell’s Angels._ He’ll surely help us.”

“Why would he help me?”

“Us,” Castiel corrected quietly and the silence loomed between them.

Dean was the first to break it. “I'm going to have to kill him. Aren't I?” He whispered. “I won't have peace until he's dead. Now Sam and probably you are in danger.”

“You’re trying to take this all on yourself. You won't be alone. I'll help you.”

“I'm a beast,” Dean whispered despondently. “Sam was better off without me. You are better off too. I cut ties with everyone. I mean, fuck! Who could ever want this? I wanted him to remember me as I was, not what I am.”

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice broke, and he didn't realize that tears were running down his cheeks. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s for a brief kiss. “I could. I do. How could I not? You don't see yourself clearly.” He brushed his fingers gently over the thick scar below the eyepatch, and cupped his cheek.

Dean leaned into Castiel’s touch briefly and then backed away slightly. Castiel’s hand dropped to his lap as he gazed at Dean.

Dean took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Look at me.” Dean motioned to his face and removed the thick leather eye patch. The large scar that his eyepatch couldn't fully cover had also taken the eye. Then he removed the bandanna. Along his neck was another thick scar where someone had attempted to slit his throat. It ran up and around his right ear into his hairline. It was still angry red, and clearly less than a year old. He motioned to it and held up his left hand, which Castiel had already noticed was devoid of his last two fingers. “I lost these when Muldoon found out I was rattin’ on him. Muldoon’s guys took my eye when I wouldn’t give up who I was talkin’ to. When I refused to talk completely, they slit my throat and left me for dead, beaten and bleedin’ out on that filthy warehouse floor. I just wanted out, and that’s why I started talking to Mills. I shoulda died, prayed for death even, but by some miracle survived. So, I assumed a different identity. Used some of the last of my GI money and some I got dirty dealin’ to open the garage. I stayed in the shadows, only coming out at night to make sure I could keep sendin’ Sam money.”

“Dean--” Castiel stopped and hiccoughed. He didn't look away. Castiel realized that Dean was laying all _his_ cards on the table.

Dean tilted his head as if he was trying to figure Castiel out. Something clicked in his good eye and he kissed Castiel fiercely. He pushed Castiel back on the bed and moved his hand to begin unbuttoning Castiel's shirt. He kissed his way down as Castiel’s flesh appeared. It was as if a beast actually had taken over, and he began tearing at the other man’s clothes, unable to contain himself.

Castiel was panting when he opened his eyes to see that Dean was still fully clothed. “Dean. Get undressed. Now!”

“I'm even more scarred under this,” Dean whispered.

“Doesn't matter. You're beautiful because of who you are,” Castiel said and then added saucily, “if we are well and truly fucked, then I would like to actually be well and truly fucked. Let's get on with it.”

“Bossy,” Dean muttered. He stood up and leaned over Castiel to kiss him quickly. He removed his jeans and pulled off his t-shirt. His torso was littered with stab wounds. The star shaped bullet wound scar on his knee was probably what caused his limp.

“Someday, you will tell me about every one of those,” Castiel said as he sat up to trace his fingers softly across the raised ridges on his muscled torso. Dean shivered. Castiel’s hand moved south, and he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s underpants. He slid them down and caught his first glimpse of Dean’s magnificent cock. He took Dean in hand, and relished when Dean moaned low in his throat. Castiel leaned over and licked the purple head.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean whispered just before Castiel swallowed him down. He made an unintelligible noise as Castiel found a rhythm with his mouth. It was a few moments before Dean came to his senses, and pushed Castiel's head back to look at him in the eye. “With my bum knee, this is going to be difficult.”

“Lay down, I'll ride you. I'd rather be facing you anyhow,” Castiel said huskily. Dean didn't take long to comply, and Castiel reached into the bedside table to retrieve a pot of something.

Dean twisted the top off and sniffed it. “Smells like honey.”

Castiel dipped two fingers in and reached behind himself to make sure he was slick enough to receive Dean's girth. “I like bees, and make it myself,” he whispered. “Honey is a natural antiseptic.” When he was satisfied, he reached for Dean's prick and distributed some of the lubricant. “Ready?” Castiel asked as he straddled Dean’s hips.

Dean only nodded and held the base of his cock so that Castiel could slowly impale himself. Dean and Castiel moaned in tandem as Castiel took in all of Dean’s considerable length. “Jesus fuck, Cas.”

“Fuck, Dean, I didn't know it would feel this good. This feels marvelous,” Castiel whispered and moved his hips a bit to get some friction. Dean bent his knees and met him with a hard thrust.

“Fuck Cas,” he said through clenched teeth.

Dean panted heavily and Castiel leaned down to kiss him. He pushed up and rode Dean for all he was worth, Dean matching him thrust for thrust.

It was messy and dirty and awkward, but also magnificent and beautiful the way their bodies fit together. It wasn't long before Dean was grasping Castiel’s weeping cock and spilling his seed into him with a shout. Castiel was quick to join him, painting their bodies with his warm sticky come. He collapsed on top of Dean, panting.

“Wow,” Dean whispered.

“Indeed,” Castiel rolled off Dean gently onto the bed. He leaned over the side and retrieved his handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers to clean them off with. He handed it over once he was finished and watched from the corner of his eye as Dean took care of himself.

Dean rolled onto his side facing Castiel. “Thank you. I know we just met today, but--”

“I don't know what this,” Castiel stopped and waved his hand between himself and Dean, “means to you, but I'm here for you.”

Dean nodded. “Let's get through tonight. What do you think?”

“Yes. Okay.”

They laid in bed, naked as the day they were born, planning the murder of the most dangerous man in Kansas City. An hour later they had a plan. It was reckless, but they couldn't be cautious.

They had a few hours before they had to begin setting their plan in motion. Castiel stood, pulled on his trousers and his undershirt, and lit a cigarette. “Dean, I’m going to call Gabriel, and bring him up to speed. Tell him to get clear of the club.”

Dean nodded and leaned up against the headboard. “You got any coffee in here?”

Castiel pointed toward the efficiency kitchenette in the corner of the room, and walked out. He wasn’t on the phone long, but by the time he walked into his apartment again, Dean was standing with his jeans back on, waiting on the percolator. The air was thick with the aroma of brewing coffee. Castiel stopped and watched him for a moment. He was leaning heavily on the counter, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

Castiel went and molded himself against Dean’s back. “What do you want to do when this is all over?” he asked.

“I’m havin’ a hard time looking past tonight, Cas,” he said with a sigh.

Castiel kissed his neck and whispered, “When we get out of there unscathed, I’m done being a Private Eye.”

Dean laughed a laugh that was tinged with darkness. “I ruined your career?”

“You were my one and only case. I did what I was hired to do, I found you. I’d say that was a success,” Castiel said with a grin. “Though I’m not going to collect my fee. Sam can use it to begin his marriage.”

Dean’s laughter was lighter then. “I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”

Castiel waved his hand as if to say that it didn’t matter. “I think I’d like to get out of the city. Get a little place, somewhere quiet, and just be.”

“A quiet slice of heaven. Sounds nice,” Dean said and Castiel felt him squeeze his hand that was around his waist.

“You can tinker on your car. I can garden,” Castiel said lowly. “It sounds lovely.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Dean whispered resolutely. “Got a piece of paper and pen? I need to write Sam. Put my affairs in order.”

Castiel pointed to the desk, and Dean poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. Castiel had already told Gabriel what he wanted to do: he would have Gabriel sell his car for him, and send the profits to a yet undecided location. It didn’t matter, he’d let Dean go where the wind blew him.

“I’m going to go down the hall to shower. I’ll be back shortly.”

Dean nodded him away and Castiel took his time in the shower. By the time he was done, he was determined that both he and Dean were going to make it out of tonight alive, and then they would never look back.

When he was back in his apartment, Dean was standing there pulling on his shirt. He had picked up his bandanna and tied it around his neck, covering his scars. “I have to run by the post box and mail this,” he said as he held up a stamped envelope. “I nicked a stamp, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Give me a few moments and I’ll be ready,” Castiel stated as he walked over to the small closet and pulled down a suitcase. It didn’t take long for him to pack his meager belongings. When he was done, he placed the suitcase by the door and pulled the key out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. He turned to Dean and with a whispered, “let’s go,” they left the apartment.

Dean drove to the post box and deposited his letter. Afterwards, it was time to put the plan into motion. Dean drove to the service station, filled his tank, and went into the back office for some things. Castiel waited in the cab. When Dean came out, he smiled a sad sort of smile, popped his trunk, and put something in it. When he turned to Castiel, he declared, “I’m ready, are you?”

Castiel nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

They drove the next few blocks in silence. It was close to dawn when Dean pulled his car into the alley behind _Hell’s Angels._ Dean turned in his seat and looked at Castiel. “This has been--” he started.

Castiel launched himself across the bench seat and kissed him. “Don’t, Dean. Remember our plan.”

Dean nodded. “He should be in there now. The joint’s about to close. Dawn isn’t far off. You’re sure your brother isn’t in there?”

“I made him swear,” Castiel said.

“Keep the engine runnin’,” Dean said as he got out quietly. Castiel slid the rest of the way behind the steering wheel. The only way Dean would let him anywhere near the club was if he agreed to be the getaway driver. Before he closed the door, he leaned in and kissed Castiel. “I’m thinking Colorado.”

“Colorado sounds nice,” Castiel said as he held Dean’s face between hands and looked into his eye. “Be careful and stay low. He will be armed and guarded, remember. If you’re not out in fifteen minutes, I’m going in.”

“If I am not out in fifteen minutes, Castiel…” his voice trailed off and he took a deep breath. “Listen to me, drive away. There’s money in the trunk. Use it to get away. Grow your garden. Raise some bees. Do it for me.”

“This is not goodbye,” Castiel whispered, voice thick with emotion. He pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. “Go. Hurry back to me.”

Dean nodded and squared his shoulders. Thanks to Castiel’s ties to the owner, Dean gained access to the back entrance. The plan was simple: go in, find Muldoon, and put a bullet between his eyes. There were bound to be other casualties, but as long as Dean wasn’t one of them…

Castiel lit a cigarette and watched the second hand on the face of his watch tick slowly. Every second felt like a minute, every minute an hour. It seemed like ages before he heard the first shots fired. His head went from the back door to his watch as he waited. Ten minutes gone and Castiel was getting worried. He heard the _-rap-rap-rap-_ of a Tommy gun being rapidly fired and Castiel prayed that Dean was okay.

Thirteen minutes.

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel whispered.

Thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds. Fourteen minutes.

The passenger door opened and a figure launched himself inside the cab. “GO!”

And Castiel did. He didn’t stop to ask what happened. He drove straight for the highway, and turned west.

Once they were well out of Kansas City, he stopped at a roadside rest stop. Castiel finally turned and looked at Dean.

“What went down?”

“Got him between the eyes with the first shot. Then got cornered behind the bar. The assholes basically picked each other off in the panic. They expected me to come armed, so all the big wigs were there, but they never expected me to come in through the back. I’m more of a go in guns a-blazin’ kind of guy,” he laughed then his voice softened. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get out.”

“All that matters is that you’re unharmed.”

“Got nicked in the shoulder, but what’s one more scar. It’s not life threatening. We’ll clean it up when we stop for the night,” he said with a shrug.

Castiel nodded and leaned into Dean’s space. “Everyone’s safe, right?”

Dean nodded and smiled, his good eye crinkling in the corner.

“Good,” Castiel said and kissed him. When he pulled back, “On to Colorado?”

Dean nodded, reached over and grasped Castiel’s hand and squeezed.

Castiel smiled. They would have their small place where Dean would tinker, and he would garden. They would have their little slice of heaven.

**\-----**

A few days later, Michael Novak received a postcard from Colorful Colorado that simply read:

_The Blackhearts have been dealt with._

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any and all feedback.


End file.
